


Haunting Five

by Papapaldi



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 10:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18050633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papapaldi/pseuds/Papapaldi
Summary: Ever since Klaus made the (regrettable) decision to stay sober, the ghosts that he's successfully kept at bay since childhood have been coming back in a big way. Those who die violently and unexpectedly often harbour resentment towards those who killed them, and what could be more violent and unexpected than meeting your end to an elite time-travelling assassin like Number Five. Needless to say, Five has a whole undead entourage following him around, and Klaus is finding it difficult to cope.





	Haunting Five

Sobriety was overrated, and not just because his head was always pounding and the world felt harsh and cold, but because the ghosts were clawing their way back into his mind, more and more all the time. He hadn’t seen so many since those nights in the mausoleum. It was as if he was more visible now, without the drugs to muddle his mind, they flocked to him, desperate to use him as a middle man to get back at the world, desperate to find someone that could hear their voices. He couldn’t blame them. Maybe he could even come to welcome them if they’d think about shutting the hell up every once in a while. 

Whenever Five came into the room, Klaus left. At first, everyone assumed it was simply because Five was a self absorbed asshole, which he was, but Klaus had grown used to self absorbed assholes after growing up at the academy, and he’d developed an immunity. He tried his best to be subtle about it, though he didn’t really need to be, his siblings barely seemed to notice when he left the room, all too wrapped up in their own thoughts. That, or they just assumed Klaus was just being Klaus, a man with the attention span of a hyperactive toddler who was always waltzing in and out of their lives whenever he needed something from them. Usually cash. 

As the days went by, the figures that gathered around Five became clearer, amassing like a congregation in the pews. It always seemed to be those who died violently and unexpectedly that were the loudest. Everyone that Five had ever killed had died this way, usually simply because the commission decided that they were a liability to the continuation of time and space. Needless to say, they were pissed. 

Time came when Klaus couldn’t bare to be around Five for more than a few minutes, let alone pay attention to whatever he was saying - usually something condescending or insulting, or both. He would find a way to casually slip out of the conversation without drawing too much attention to himself. Then, he’d go and stand in the hallway propped up against a wall with his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears, fighting the urge to wander down to the darker parts of town for something to ease his pain. That’s exactly the position in which he found himself after Five had barged in on another of Diego and Luther’s arguments (which Klaus had been spectating like a football match), sipping a martini and telling everyone to stop being so childish. There was still something incredibly uncanny about seeing a thirteen year old school boy day drinking while glaring at them all like there was drool dripping from their mouths. Although they’d stopped throwing punches, Luther and Diego were staring one another down from opposite ends of the living room, pacing and surveying one another like wild animals. Five sat down beside Klaus, tutting and shaking his head. 

“You know, I think they’ve actually regressed since they were thirteen, I didn’t think that was possible but,” he took another sip and cleared his throat, “here we are.” He turned to Klaus, who was already feeling uncomfortable as the ghosts began to converge on him, muttering. “What are they arguing about this time anyway?”

“I have no idea,” he answered, “and in a way that makes it more entertaining, I can pretend it’s about who ate the last cookie instead of all those serious adult things we’re all yelling about nowadays.” 

Five nodded thoughtfully, going to take another swig of his drink. Klaus raised his hand to stop him from putting the glass to his lips. “You know, you should probably give the martinis a rest little buddy.” 

Five rolled his eyes, reminding Klaus of the stubborn kid they’d lost sixteen years ago, the kid who’d role his eyes at anything and everything. The man that had returned was often jarringly different from the boy that the Hargreeves children remembered, but it was times like this when the old Five shone through. “Must I remind you that I’ve lived more than long enough to drink whatever I want, whenever I want it.” Five snarked. This was the moment he’d been dreading, an inescapable one on one encounter. Five would see right through any bullshit excuse he’d pull, he might not care, but he’d see. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it old timer, but that’s a perfectly good thirteen year old liver you’re fucking up, maybe just take it easy for a couple years.” Five just scoffed and went back to his drink. 

A woman was screaming. Screaming his name and cursing the boy that sat beside him. An old man muttered in another language, blood pooling around white hair. Klaus was on edge, and he missed he days he would spend traipsing from gutter to gutter, living off thrills and empty air. And speed, there was that too. It was a miserable life, but at least he was alone. Ben was beside him, but Klaus could barely hear his voice in the din. At times like these, Ben was the only thing that kept him from going insane. He was the only one that could see what he saw, and could understand how he felt. 

“Just stick it out,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. There was an illusion of touch, even if Ben’s hand would just phase right thought him. “Just a little bit longer and he’ll go back to the bar, you can sneak off.”

“Yeah, I know where I’ll be sneaking off too,” he sniggered, under his breath, "right to my fucking dealer."

“Don’t say that,” Ben encouraged, “it’ll get better, you just need to learn how to control them, it’s gonna take some time.” 

Five must have noticed that something was up, between all the twitching and grimacing and looking generally freaked out. “Doing ok there?” He asked, eyebrow raised, considering his brother the way one might look at a pitiful, sort of disgusting beetle struggling on its back. 

Klaus barely heard what he said over all the noise. He glanced sideways at Ben. “He asked if you were ok,” he said.

“Christ, of course he did, what a stupid question.” Klaus chuckled to himself, which only further raised Five’s concern. Klaus cleared his throat hastily, “Yeah, yeah I’m always fine, always,” he repeated, whispering. Five shrugged. 

Luther had been the first to give up the testosterone-fuelled staring contest, leaving Diego to slump down on the couch opposite his two brothers, no doubt intent on brooding for as long as possible. A lot had changed since they’d all lived here as kids, but not this - the cycle of tension between the two self-appointed top-dogs of the family. It was sort of comforting in a sad way, in the same way that it comforted the others to see that little Klaus was still rolling joints and pouring his life down the gutter. Their scars ran deep. 

For a moment the room was silent - well, silent for everyone but Klaus, who had never known true silence all his life. The ghosts kept calling out to him, as if he could help, some of them didn’t even realise they were dead. The career of a time travelling assassin amassed a collection of colourful characters, some of them must have been gone for centuries. 

“Take it easy with those drinks, Five,” Diego said, as his brother went to get himself another hit from the bar. Five threw his brother a dead-eyed glare and continued on his way. Diego looked to Klaus as if to say ‘can you believe this kid.’ Klaus shrugged and basked in the brief relief of Five leaving his side and his undead fan club concentrating their attention elsewhere. 

“You’re right, Delores,” Five’s voice sounded from across the room, “I don’t think either of them have had an original thought in their lives.” Diego badly suppressed a chuckle and rolled his eyes. Klaus answered him with a nervous laugh, a little too enthusiastic for the context. Truth was he only had half a mind of what was going on, the other half was listening to this 19th century French lady screaming his name with about as much coherency as one could have if their throat was sawn through with a serrated trowel. They were only getting louder, the more he thought about them the more visible he was. Go away, he thought, I can’t fucking help you. 

“It’s scary, being where they are now,” Ben reminded him, “if I didn’t have you here, I would’ve been lost, just like them.”

“Yeah ‘cause I’m you’re fucking saviour,” Klaus mumbled, smiling to himself. 

“Don’t push it, asshole. Just concentrate on them, your brothers, remind yourself what’s real.” Diego barely seemed to notice their little conversation, he was too busy seeing how many times he could spin a knife in the air before catching it. 

“Well, I should be going,” Diego announced, sheathing one of his many knives and getting up from the couch. “You should come with me to the gym sometime Klaus, you could really use the, err,” he indicated towards his brother, skinny and shaking, “exercise.” 

Five was coming back. Klaus shook his head vigorously, which only served to make to voices blur together. He wished he had something to smoke. Ben was saying something again, but his brother’s reassurance only added to the cacophony. Any comfort he could offer him was lost. The boy sat down opposite Klaus, arm draped over that weird mannequin. “Yeah, ok Delores I don’t need you on my case too. I’m drinking this martini, just deal with it.” 

Klaus cleared his throat, as if to remind himself that he still existed underneath all the noise. “Hey, uh, Five, little buddy?” he mumbled, voice raspy, “you think you could tell them to shut up, just… just for a second.” He brought trembling hands up to his ears, clawing at the sides of his face. He couldn’t help but feel like a kid again, a kid locked in the dark while skeletons burrowed into his mind.

Five rolled his eyes, he didn’t have time for Klaus’ bullshit. “Thought you were trying to stay sober.” 

“Oh, I’m sober alright, I’m so fucking sober that it’s like Dia de Muertos up in here.” He laughed, high and choked. “In case you’d forgotten, this is what sober is for me. You starting to see why I’ve avoided it for the past seventeen years?” The woman with the trowel in her neck was wailing, all of them trying to get his attention, as if he could do anything. “Lady can you SHUT IT!” He shouted. In surprise at being acknowledged, she actually stopped, for a moment anyway. 

Five cocked his head to one side, examining empty air. As if concentrating hard enough would let him see what Klaus couldn’t avoid. “There are ghosts here?”

“Yeah, there’s a shit ton of ghosts here,” he said, matter-of-factly, “and they’re all royally pissed off!” He sighed, looking out at them all. All the gruesome wounds and twisted, sorrowful expressions, begging. 

“Why are they hanging around this old place?” He inquired, taking another sip of his drink. 

Klaus chuckled. “They’re here because of you. Jesus, Five, you killed a lot of people.” Five was taken aback, as if he’d never considered the resentment of the people he left behind, walking in these lonelier planes. They had been jobs to him, every single one. Just another step on his path back to his family. 

“What, are they all just… standing there?”

“Oh yeah, standing, sitting, screaming like a fucking BITCH,” he directed that last outburst towards trowel lady, who shut her gurgling, bloodied mouth properly this time. “Dude, why would you stab her with a trowel that’s just cruel.”

Five was reminiscing, searching for some vague memory. “There was nothing else around, I had to improvise.” He sighed, looking Klaus in the eye for more than a fleeting moment for once. “This is why you’ve been avoiding me, then.”

“Oh, you noticed.” He said, waving his hand around in the air absent-mindedly. “I figured you were too, how shall I put this,” he paused, “far up your own ass.” 

Five glared at him. “I notice everything, Klaus,” he sighed again, setting down his drink on the side table and letting the mannequin slide out from under his grip. He leant forward, brow furrowed. It was his thinking face, one of Klaus’ least favourite of Five’s expressions. “Why do they stick around? What do they want from me?”

“I’m not sure they know what they want,” Klaus considered. He usually avoided thinking about the ghosts at all, let alone their motives for being such colossal pains in his ass. “You were a hitman so, they died quick, right? Unexpectedly. Most of them are probably innocent too, I mean shit, Five, there’s a couple of kids here.” 

“It was necessary, for the fate of the world, and for me to get back here.” Klaus suspected that rhetoric was more for Five’s benefit than anyone else’s. Everything was always necessary, no matter how fucked up. 

“Oh, you don’t need to convince me of that, maybe you should try preaching to trowel lady instead.” 

Five cleared his throat, a little reluctantly. “Uh, trowel lady,” he began.

“You don’t even remember her name?”

“No, I don’t remember her name,” he hissed, indignant, “I don’t even remember what she looked like.” 

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Ben’s voice sounded from beside him, finally discernible. 

“Shut up, Ben,” Klaus whispered, “why don’t you get all buddy-buddy with her, seeing as you’re both dead.” 

“Wait, what did you say?” Five asked. Klaus shushed him and leant back, resting the back of his head on the top of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It’s just,” Klaus began, “it’s never been this bad before. Back when we were kids, there’d be a few stray corpses hanging around, plus a couple of perps we’d done in on the job – crushed by Luthor, slashed up by Diego, ripped to gory little pieces by Ben.” Ben shot him a look. “Sorry,” he added, under his breath. “It’s only getting worse, most days I can’t even hear myself think, especially when you’re around so, thanks for that.” 

Five went quiet for a moment. It was strange for him not to come out with some quick quip that made him sound both intelligent and like an utter asshole. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, and he was. “And I’m sorry to all of them too, if that’ll make a difference.” 

“Well, it might, I don’t know how this shit works.” Klaus sighed and looked back at his brother. The faces that swam around the corners of his vision were fading to a mottled blur. “Thanks, Five.”

“Don’t mention it,” he smirked, that shit-faced sidewards grin. He picked up his drink again, putting it to his lips. 

“Nope!” Klaus cried, getting to his feet. “Nope, absolutely not,” he snatched the drink from his brother’s hands.

“Hey, what the hell!” 

“No more martinis for you,” he poured the contents of the glass out onto the carpet. 

Ben rolled his eyes, “really?”

“What,” he hissed, “I’m improvising.” He cleared his throat, addressing Five, his face now wiped of that smug expression. “Only thing you’re getting now are apples and oatmeal, young man”

Five opened his mouth as if to retaliate. He shrugged instead, “fine, fine!” He spat, getting to his feet. “I’ve got work to do anyway, come on Delores.” He hauled the mannequin up with him, one arm wrapped around its disembodied torso. He muttered to himself as he traipsed up the stairs, “alright, alright Delores, you win. No more damn martinis.” And to think, Klaus pondered, they’d almost had a moment of familial bonding. 

“That’s right, go to your room now,” he called in a sing-song tone. “So, Ben, I think that went well,” he muttered, grinning. The ghosts were still there, of course, they never really left, not if he was planning on staying sober. Some of them shuffled up the stairs after Five, some continued wandering, muttering, it was infuriating. But, he considered, it was better. Something was actually getting better for once in his life. He could get used to this.


End file.
